This is a story for the "
Art of Falling
" writing event; however, there is no "Art" in this story, hence the title.
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I thought for many years that I. Andrea Wilson, didn't have the capacity to love. That may have been due to my fucked-up childhood and my even more fucked-up mother.
My mother Bree was a serial flirt and cheater; she got away with it for many years because she was very good looking and people tend to give good looking women the benefit of the doubt; Bree's actions, and lack of consequences, taught me that. She went through three husbands after my biological father and made out well in all of the divorces even though she precipitated them. Moving around from "dad to dad" wasn't much fun, nor was moving schools but I survived primarily by not caring enough to love any place, thing, or person.
By pure DNA I also was born good-looking. Good looks are nothing for anyone to brag about because you have nothing to do with it -- it's simple genetics. However, just because I didn't think that I was hot shit just because I was good looking since I hadn't worked for it didn't mean that I wouldn't use my looks to my advantage.
I did use my good looks to my advantage any chance that I got. By her actions Bree had taught me well, even if I sometimes execrated her for it. I used my sex appeal to get the grades, jobs, and guys that I wanted, even though I had enough smarts to get them without sex appeal -- it was more fun using sex appeal.
Even though I never fell in love, I did fuck often, although "always" with condoms. The reason that I put quotes around the word "always" is because apparently I didn't one time when I was nineteen. I'm still not positive how it happened, but I had been drinking too much for only the second time in my life when my fuck buddy of the month -- a really good looking, rich, smart, but shallow senior in college -- and I fucked. I know the first time that we fucked the night in question that it was with a condom, because even in my haze I clearly remember him putting it on, and it was next to the bed in his dorm room the next morning. However, I had a dream that later that night we fucked like a pair of bonobos (generally considered the most sex-crazed mammals of all time). I didn't realize that it wasn't a dream for several months because I had a bad hangover when my fuck buddy took me into the shower the first thing in the morning (causing quite a stir in his dorm) so I was too out-of-it to notice any evidence of cum on my thighs or on his cock.
I was one of those rare women that didn't really start showing my baby bump until I was about twenty weeks pregnant, and I never really got morning sickness. I did feel a little "hormonal" but since I was regularly being serviced by a number of different guys I thought that it was just because I was getting good sex. By the time that I suspected that something was amiss I was about twenty one weeks pregnant and by that time even if I was inclined to abort -- which I may have been if given a legitimate option and time to think about it -- it was virtually too late to get it properly scheduled. So, my junior year in college I had to temporarily withdraw to give birth to a six pound, eight ounce, nineteen inch long bouncing baby girl, who I named Lainey.
Fortunately, I didn't have the economic pressures that a normal nineteen year old single mom has. Since my mother was wealthy from her many divorce payouts, she supported me and little Lainey, and was actually a much better grandmother than she had been a mother. I made it clear to Bree that I didn't want her values to be passed onto little Lainey, and surprisingly Bree wasn't even insulted by what I said.
With my mother's financial help not only did I complete my university education, cum laude but I also got my MBA, also cum laude, by the time that I was twenty three and Lainey was almost four years old.
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Because I was apparently incapable of romantic love -- I did love Lainey, and as she got older almost loved Bree, but obviously those were familial types of love -- I never married for love. However, I did marry four times by the time that Lainey started college as a 17 year old freshman (she is very smart and skipped a grade). Those marriages were so that I had a ready sex partner, and to give Lainey a father figure, and since married business women seem to be more respected.
I found that I had a real acumen for business and was very successful first working for a fortune 500 company, and then starting my own. One of the businesses that I started was a national fitness chain. As the company spokesman I felt that I needed to be in excellent physical condition so I did work very hard to maintain my genetically-provided good looks. Without bragging, from the time that I got my MBA through the defining events of my life story, I'm confident that I was in the top one-tenth of 1% in fitness of women my age. I decided that Lainey would be my only biological child.
While my first three husbands were well-off, I insisted on a prenup with each of them which worked out for me since despite their wealth I made more money than they did. I kept my maiden name, Wilson, for each of the marriages.
For some reason Bree insisted on providing Lainey and me with lavish gifts even though we didn't really need them; I mean did sixteen year old Lainey really need a pearl blue Corvette with white leather interior? (Since Lainey was mature and responsible for her age I didn't nix the idea.)
I was nice to each of my first three husbands; they were between decent and good fathers to Lainey and two of them also had kids by other marriages so Lainey had siblings part of her formative years. I never cheated on them. I liked sex with them until I got bored, at which time I divorced them as amicably as possible. I know that they were left with some hard feelings, especially when I explained to them that I never was truly in love with them -- or anyone else -- but it couldn't be helped.
I was on my fourth husband, Brad, when Lainey went off to college. I married Brad only for the ability to have regular sex and maintain my image for the companies that I owned, not because Lainey really had the need for a father figure anymore and certainly not because I had suddenly developed the capacity for romantic love. Lainey's lack of need for a father figure was due in part to the fact that she maintained an excellent relationship with my second husband, Peter, and Peter's two daughters who were two and three years older than Lainey.
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Lainey was a mature-for-her-age eighteen year old sophomore in college, and I was thirty seven, when she brought her new boyfriend Alex to our mini-mansion during Christmas vacation. Lainey and I texted or talked on the phone almost every day and aside from her studies the main topic of our discussions was Alex. Despite Lainey's maturity I was a little concerned about her relationship with Alex since he was in his first year of graduate business school and had worked for two years before starting graduate school so he was twenty four years old, almost six years older than she was.
I had some minor emergencies with my fitness company the Friday that Lainey and Alex arrived, so they were already chatting with Brad in the living room and had drinks in their hands when I got home. As I was about to enter the living room and announce my presence I stopped dead. I saw Alex in profile and my heart started fluttering. I stood frozen for a period of time that I can't estimate, probably only a few seconds but my mind wasn't working right so I can't be sure. Then I slowly and quietly backed away and found a comfortable chair to sit in in the den to regain my composure.
I had never felt like I was feeling then. I thought that maybe despite my high level of fitness I was having a health emergency. I was flushed, my hands were clammy, and my heart continued to flutter. By doing deep breathing exercises I was finally able to calm down. I determined that it was not a health emergency but it was a reaction to Alex -- but I couldn't figure out what sort of reaction it was. I steeled myself and then nosily walked the thirty or so paces to the living room, my high heels clicking on the marble floor, and entered.
Lainey came and gave me a big hug, Brad gave me a kiss on the cheek, and then Lainey joyfully said "Mom, this is my friend Alex, Alex this is my mom Andrea, and don't call her anything except Andrea if you want to be on her good side."
I said "Nice to finally meet you Alex," while he said "Likewise Andrea, although I feel that I almost already know you from reading the articles about you in Business Week and the Wall Street Journal." As we exchanged greetings we shook hands -- but he took my right hand between his as we did so. I felt an electric jolt go up my spine, and felt slightly unsteady on my feet as he smiled at me.
The four of us had a pleasant discussion for the next few minutes although I have no recollection whatsoever what it was about. For some reason chemicals were rampaging through my body like water through the Amazon after a thunderstorm and I felt my panties getting soaked. I was snapped out of my stupor when the maid announced that dinner was being served and we retired to the dining room.
During dinner, I didn't know what the fuck was going on with my body. I remained flushed and clammy. I was constantly glancing over at Alex -- he and Lainey were across from Brad and I at the dining room table -- and had a surprising adverse reaction when he and Lainey quickly kissed a few times. I think that we had a stimulating dinner conversation since there seemed to be a lot of talking and laughter, but like the conversation in the living room none of it seemed to stick in my brain.
After dinner Lainey announced that she and Alex were going to a party with some of her high school, and their college, friends the next suburb over so they hopped into her Corvette and took off. As they drove away I had a sudden feeling of loss and anxiety -- and I'm not an anxious or emotional person so again I wondered what the fuck was going on. I decided that I needed to take a shower and get in some casual clothes so I told Brad that I would be going up to our bedroom.
When I got up to the master bedroom to change when I took off my panties they were sopping wet -- apparently I was not imagining the feeling during the living and dining room conversations. I showered and tried to intellectually determine what the fuck was happening. I partially convinced myself that I had never before seen Lainey with a man who was her boyfriend, rather than a teenage boyfriend, and somehow that had disturbed me. I wondered if that was correct, however, when Brad walked into the bedroom as I was exiting the bathroom wrapped in a towel and the first thing running through my mind was "Fuck Him!"
